


Worth a Thousand Words

by PatchworkFelicity



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Selfie-War, Sexting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkFelicity/pseuds/PatchworkFelicity
Summary: All she wanted was to know what Seven looked like without his glasses, but a game begins when he decides to send her a selfie.





	1. Angling

I’m not certain when, exactly, this had become so important to me. The fact that my thoughts continued to drift back in the same direction over and over again lately made me worry that I was starting to get a little obsessive. What was worse was that I couldn’t even figure out _why_ I’d developed such a need to _know_. In fact, if I was just patient enough I’m sure my curiosities would be sated eventually.

But _no_ . I just _had_ to make it my own, personal mission to see it happen.

Come hell or high-water, I was going to catch a glimpse of Seven _without his glasses_.

It sounds like it should have been a simple thing, right? But _nothing_ was ever simple when it came to Luciel. This man was a chaotic anomaly wrapped in brightly misleading packaging that advertised ‘fun for all ages’ and was topped with a bombastically patterned, haphazardly tied bow. You knew that it was probably best to keep the box closed, but all its shining peculiarities made it far too tempting to leave alone. Staying out of trouble was not my forte, clearly. 

I’d witnessed first-hand what it was like to be at the target of his amusement. Poor Yoosung still couldn’t look at a carton of chocolate milk without getting sick, but I was drawn into Seven’s game nonetheless.

It had all started innocently enough; he’d made some passing comment in the chat about not looking too shabby if you just removed his glasses. I expressed an interest in seeing that. After all, the notorious Seven-Oh-Seven was a fairly attractive fellow to begin with. It wasn’t the same, ethereal sort of beauty Zen possessed, but a charm all his own. He also had some of the most striking eyes I could ever recall seeing; a brilliant, rich golden shade that sparkled in his mischievous mirth. I might have stared a little longer than I meant to when we came face to face at the first party. Embarrassment had been clear on my face, I’m sure, but thankfully as soon as I realized my error, Luciel had already looked away.

Maybe he’d noticed how he’d held me captive and the subject of his glasses had not only been a random thought in a chatroom. He’d tossed out the bait and I’d bitten, and now he’d been angling with me for weeks, reeling and releasing before reeling again.

Of course, I had only confirmed my interest - my first mistake - and continued to prod him over it - my second mistake - until he realized that the more he denied me the more crazy over it I was getting.

He seemed to revel in my frustration, basking in my pouting and pleading to please just put me out of my misery. How difficult was it just to tug those brightly rimmed spectacles off his nose? Ridiculously so, apparently. I’d attempted to mentally will them off whenever he tilted his head just so, letting them slip down the bridge of his nose, but it was as though they would not obey gravity any further than that. I had even tried to imagine him without them, but even in my own head I couldn’t make it happen. It was as though he’d managed to sabotage my thoughts too.

I knew I was in it deep, however, the day I received the _selfie._

As a person whose livelihood banked on him remaining as secretive and unrecognizable as possible, it made sense that there weren’t too many pictures of Seven floating around. The few images he used for his profile pictures in the app were an exception along with a few commemorative group photos from each of the parties. If he happened to be caught in any other shots, it was because he was intentionally photobombing and he always made it a point to obscure just enough of himself so it wouldn’t be an issue.

Point was, Seven did _not_ take selfies.

This one, however, that popped up unexpected on my phone one day in the middle of my lunch break, had me crying aloud in exasperation. I accidentally knocked my rice bowl all over the floor because of it, and then had to endure cleaning it up beneath the gaze of all my coworkers in the break room as they undoubtedly tried to discern why I had reacted so dramatically.

That _insufferable tease_.

My reaction had been entirely overblown. But given the right context, I’m sure it would have been much more understandable. At least that’s what I liked to to tell myself. I’d believe anything to escape the mortification of knowing that my colleagues probably believed I’d just received something questionable.

It was nothing of the sort. It was just Seven, out somewhere in the city, a peculiarly angled top down shot (did he own a selfie stick? Why would he if he never took one? Had he just invented some contraption to take the photo for him or -- wait, off topic). I could see part of his face, a smirk clear on his lips even from this perspective. His glasses, pinched on one side and held lazily aloft in his hand, were the primary focus of the picture because his eyes were entirely hidden by the length of his unruly red locks. I could see the faint beginnings of his eyelashes, but could not tell if his eyes were lidded or closed entirely.

_Just a fraction lower! WHY?! MOTHERFU~_

The thought came unbidden and riddled with weeks of pent up agitation. By this time I was walking home from the subway where I had been surreptitiously glancing at the image in my gallery more times than could be soundly rationalized. I don’t know what clues I was attempting to glean by scrutinizing it again and again. Maybe I thought if I opened it enough times it might reveal something I’d missed.

It could have also had something to do with that knowing little grin on his face. For some reason it was as exhilarating as it was vexing, and that only made the whole thing feel like a double whammy in the hacker’s favor. It was enough to make me avoid the chatroom for the majority of the day. The last thing I wanted to see was Seven bragging about having gotten a rise out of me.

And how would he know?

Oh, trust me. He’d _know_.

Thrusting my cell phone in the pocket of my jacket as though the gesture would make a difference, I made a stop at the convenience market near my apartment. I didn’t feel like cooking dinner tonight so I would just have to resort to something pre-packaged, though I knew it wasn’t exactly an ideal meal. At least if anyone asked me if I’d had dinner I could reassure them that, yes, I’d eaten. They didn’t need to know the exact details.

I trudged through the narrow aisles with little concern over the contents of my basket. If it sounded good, I was going to shove it in my face with reckless abandon. It just felt like that kind of a day.

It wasn’t until I got home and was unpacking the plastic bag on the counter that I made the connection. I withdrew the parchment wrapped, soft package from amid the other snacks and unwrapped it to start promptly nomming, but stopped when I realized what I was looking at.

Fish bread.

 _Fish bread_...

...the bread a certain agent absolutely _loved_ to eat the bellies off of.

 

I liked stuffed pastries well enough, but why had I gravitated towards buying _these_ ones? The only thing I could think of, much to my current chagrin as I started at the fish-shaped buns, was that Luciel’s presence had well and truly permeated my being to the point I was thinking of him even when I thought I’d banished him entirely.

 

I was suddenly reminded of how he’d spread Zen’s career-launching video like a virus, suspecting it would have been just as easy for him to invade my thoughts in the same way. He knew how to break through the even the toughest defenses to where he was never meant to be. It was his _job_. I couldn’t exactly blame him for trying to take some joy in all those skills he’d perfected over the years.

No doubt if he found out the turmoil I was putting myself through over his picture, he’d laugh himself straight out of his chair! An odd flicker of happiness at the prospect danced through my disdain, befuddling me.  I’d only heard his laugh a handful of times and it was ridiculously beguiling - more so in its scarcity.

No! I would not allow him to utter that stupid.... _adorably infectious_ laugh at my expense!

I took a deep, determined breath before seizing one of the pieces of bread and taking an ambitious bite. In a way, it was satisfying to decimate it with such vigor, crumbs flying everywhere and bean paste smearing all over my fingers and my lips.

 _Joke's on you, Seven_ , I thought. _I get to enjoy fresh fish bread and all you have are your boring, old Honey Buddha Chips!_

I was going to enjoy the hell out of this treat, reasoning that somehow that gave me an upper hand over him, all the while denying the fact he could just as easily go get some of his own. The first pastry was gone within minutes and I began tearing into a second, grumbling through my frustration, when I had a thought.

Looking back on it now, I was probably not entirely in my right mind when I did it. All I could focus on was responding with _something_ so he didn’t think he’d won this little war before it began. Seven had practically thrown down his gauntlet with that picture earlier so I couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing. And since I didn’t trust myself to come up with something clever enough to say at the moment (he was probably prepared for that), another photo seemed like excellent retaliation. Rummaging around in the pocket of my discarded jacket, I brought up the camera and switched it to front-facing. I played with different angles for a minute or two, lifting the fish pastry in my other hand and posing with it in ways I thought would show how much I was enjoying it.

_No… That didn’t look right… It just looked like a mess. Do I bite into it, or does that make me look like I’m just in some commercial? Argh._

Finally, I opted to drop the view so my eyes were no longer in the shot, the half devoured fish pastry pressed into my palm. The filling was starting to make my fingers sticky - you probably weren’t supposed to handle them this much - and I brought two fingers near my lips. Luciel had mentioned how much he loved licking the paste off his fingers, so I had to remind him of that. In a mischievous gesture that I was sure wouldn’t be lost on him, I stuck my tongue out to the side. Snapping the picture, I reviewed it and decided it was perfect, a wry grin playing on my lips. I had to send it as soon as possible before I changed my mind. I was feeling too stubborn at the moment to resist.

I took extra care to ensure I was sending the photo to the right person. Without context, the image would probably elicit some interesting responses, especially if I accidentally sent it to Zen or Yoosung. Even if Jumin received it, he never reacted to much of anything so he probably wouldn’t even blink over it. Jaehee would likely consider it strange, but was too proper to say much about it.

For whatever reason, I never suspected Seven would see it as anything but a challenge in a game. Besides, the whole conversation about the fish pastries had been a bit of fun in the first place. It was a playful jab. That’s all.

I debated adding any sort of text to the message, wondering if it was more fitting to let it explain itself, let him figure out what it meant. He hadn’t bothered to write anything when he sent me the picture of himself and look what had come of that! Then it was decided. I attached the photo and sent it on its way.

_Take that, Luciel Choi. Your move._


	2. A Challenge...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't expect this.

Her response came later than I expected, but only by about half an hour.

It would have been a lie to say I hadn’t been waiting for it. Knowing that my phone would sound a notification once the text came in didn’t stop me from looking at it every few minutes. I was probably willing a response to come, and had even sat with my fingers to my temples checking to see if I might have become telepathic since I last checked, sending her images to ensure she didn’t forget to answer.

She _had_ to answer. I’d only been dangling this prospect over her head for months now, and like an adorable little kitten she’d been chasing every tantalizing string I threw out. I should have felt more guilty about teasing her, I guess, but I couldn’t stop myself from continuing. Up until now Yoosung had been the only one I could convince to play along, and that was only because he was so unwitting. He didn’t even know he was playing the majority of the time. But her? She _knew_. The question was whether or not she would join the game.

The confirmation came like a heavenly choir. Because that’s what my notification for her was called. ‘Heavenly Choir’. It seemed appropriate.

I could barely contain the glee from consuming me as I plucked my phone off the desktop, swiping through the app’s menus. First thing I notice is there’s no preview text, only the indication of an image attached. I can feel my grin pull wide. She’s sent a _picture_ back? Ante up, indeed.

So, what would it be? I actually hadn’t anticipated a picture. Thought maybe she would scold me for being a blatant tease. It was probably something cute, like her pouting or making an angry little face, sticking out her tongue because I’m just so mean. I am, aren’t I? I’m a terrible person for getting such joy out of pushing other people’s buttons like this but, hey...beggars can’t be choosers and---

...What…

Self-consciously, I thrust the phone beneath the desk and looked over each of my shoulders in the dark. I don’t know why I suddenly felt so paranoid. I knew no one could get in the bunker and Vanderwood had left hours ago. I...I must have seen that wrong. My imagination was running away with me. It was late. I cleared my throat and squeezed my eyes shut and open wide a few times, adjusting my glasses to be sure all the elements were in proper working order. Lifting my phone again, I hit the power button, pulling it out of sleep mode. Once more her photo flickered onto my screen.

I glanced away again, but held the phone steady. Should I.. Should I be looking at this? My eyes drifted slowly back again and remained glued. Everything was starting to feel hot and I realized in moments my cheeks were burning.

Her lips… Bean paste… Fingers.. .Tongue… She was...licking...?

My gaze couldn’t help falling lower. It wasn’t my fault. Or was it? God, I’m a perv. She’s wearing a low-cut tank and that paste isn’t just on her fingers. It’s on her collar...smudged on the swell of…The low lighting makes a lot of it look grainy, but what I can see is more than enough.

 _Too_ much.

I...I had no idea she had this side to her…

I’m in _so_ much trouble.

Because even though I ought to delete the photo - it’s not _too_ bad. Mildly suggestive. J..Just _mildly_ \- I don’t. I can’t stop looking at it, trying to convince myself it’s just a concoction of my dirty mind at the same time I’m trying to discern if there’s anything I’m missing, scouring every pixel.

Something drips onto my screen and I realize I was honest to God, drooling a little. Also, my hands are shaking and I’m gripping my phone with both in a death grip.

 _Calm the fuck down, Luciel. Assess the situation logically_ …

Maybe she meant it for someone else?

Oh, I don’t like that thought at all. I shove it away before I can question the possibility. If not then she had to have meant it for me. If she meant it for me then...what, exactly? Was this her revenge? I only sent her a completely innocent picture (out of context anyway) and she responds with this? Maybe she had no other idea how to respond and was resorting to drastic measures to show me what for?

That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

Who am I kidding, everything about her is a turn on right now. Because of this damn picture.

It’s...it’s really pretty. Even though I can’t see all of her face, the way her hair falls against her shoulders, the soft curve of her neck.. I’m reminded of how she used to bundle her tresses into a messy little bun with a single clip when she was stuck at the apartment. It was messy and haphazard and so completely adorable. I’d started to miss seeing her on the CCTV, which showed me nothing now but empty, lifeless rooms. But I remembered how she looked, the faces she’d make as she went about her day. So cute..so…

This was definitely something else _entirely_.

I lean forward, pressing my elbows to the desk while I promptly crush my face into my palm. My phone is still cradled into the other. I don’t even think to set it down. I swear if I let go of it will somehow grow legs and escape my possession, her photo along with it.

As I see it, I have a two options.

One, I respond to the photo. The question then would be, how? The uncertainty in me nags that I should clarify her intentions behind this, make sure it was intended for me in the first place. The ego in me tells me I’m going to look awkward as hell if I show hesitation now. I’d been the one instigating this the entire time, hadn’t I? Hadn’t I? I mean, I hadn’t been expecting _this_ result, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t responsible for it.

So, do I tease her about it, play coy and mischievous deviant like I usually do? Should I make her believe she’s playing straight into my hand, even when I never saw this coming? Poker face. Bluffing. All those gambling analogies.

I was just trying to play go-fish, man. Did not account for the random encounter with a sexy mermaid!

The other option would be to just pretend I never even got this picture.

Yeah, I don’t think that’ll fly. Besides, it was the kind of thing that required, asked...with soft, demure effect...for some sort of reaction. It would be rude of me not to reply. I mean, she’d gone through the effort to put this all together...for _me_ … She might have even waited all this time, working up the courage to send it. I didn’t want to make her feel foolish or embarrassed for taking the chance. Though, really, she ought to be more careful about sending images like this - especially to people she hardly knows anything about. They might get the wrong idea!

Was...was _I_ getting the wrong idea?

Think. _Think_.

Okay, so my first priority was to decipher what this really meant. Was it entirely innocent or not? Was she trying to provoke me just for the fun of it, playful banter back and forth like we always did, or…

If I asked her outright it could be a mortifying experience for us both.

My lower lip was starting to hurt for all the gnawing I was putting it through.

It might have been safest to move forward as we had been, like nothing was amiss. Totally normal. I would send her back a photo, because that made sense in this game. I’d made a move. She’d made a move. Now it was my turn again. The trouble was I was not entirely sure what sort of picture I sound send _back_.

When one’s opponent issues a challenge, you must not only rise to the challenge, but also surpass it without revealing your entire hand . Keep things interesting so they’ll continue playing.

Hmm.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m out of my chair and in the bathroom taking a good long look at myself in the mirror. I don’t typically spend that much time scrutinizing myself. I have no one to impress when it comes to my physical appearance, so I just don’t think about it. Seeing my reflection now I realize I probably should have actually gotten a haircut when I mentioned it before. My hair has always been kind of thick and unruly, and the longer it gets, the shaggier it looks. It never bothered me, but now I’m shoving it out of my eyes, trying to tame down wayward sprigs that want to defy gravity. They won’t go down easily.

Forget the hair for now. If you’re taking any pictures it should be something like she sent you. I haven’t forgotten her fixation with seeing me without my glasses, anyway. That’s what started this whole thing and I’m not about to use my special attack right out of the gate.

Even so, I tug the glasses off my nose and peer, squinting at my now hazy image in the mirror. I have to get a bit closer to see more clearly. I wonder what her fascination is, beyond the whole mystery aspect. There’s nothing special looking back at me, and removing my glasses only increases my attractiveness by a fraction of a percent.

The me looking back frowns and I wonder when I got so self-conscious. You’d think I’d have to spend more time obsessing over myself to develop a proper complex, but here I am really looking at myself for the first time in months and I’ve gone from ‘whatever’ to ‘why am I not more pretty?’ in ten seconds flat.

Give yourself a break. Anyone would feel like an ugly duckling with guys like Jumin and Zen in their social circle. It didn’t really bother me in the grand scheme of things. Zen’s selfies were a treat to everyone’s eyes, mine included. But right now I find myself wishing I had had more time to work out.

At one time my daily routine included athletic conditioning so I would be fit to work in the field, but in the last couple years I’d been allocated to more and more behind the scenes missions, which required little of me than to plant my ass in a chair for hours on end. As a result, a lot of the lithe, slightly more svelte figure I’d gained in college had suffered losses. I’d gotten soft.

Fingers curled at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up with a bit of hesitation. I still had abs. I DID. Somewhere! I turned this way and that, assessing myself in different lighting and angles, flexing and unflexing. Prodded my stomach with a finger. Years of Honey Buddha Chips and PhD Pepper had given me a layer of padding around those muscles.

I really needed to just chill, I reasoned as I dropped my shirt down and put my glasses back on. It’s not as though I was going to be posing for a spread in a magazine or a modeling gig. This would just be a snap for her eyes only.

Whatever I ended up doing, it had to be something worthy of what she’d offered up to me. I owed her that much. I should think about this. Give it some real, honest consideration and planning.

Even more, I wanted her to feel the same way she’d just made me feel when I first saw her photo. To feel that surge of heat, that moment of mindlessness and wondering ‘is this real life’?

I may not have been able to elicit that sort of reaction so effortlessly, but I am, if anything, resourceful and clever. With a little strategy, I could possibly even concoct a photo that even Zen would be proud of.

The more I thought of it, the more I rationalized I needed to sleep on it. Nothing good would come of some scattershot, spontaneous response. Especially not when my nerves were on fire and, let’s be honest, hormones were raging worse than when I was fifteen.

Somehow I suspected I wouldn’t be able to sleep, despite that being a vital part of the plan. My attention returned to my phone, finding the picture of her again, flipping back and forth between that and the other images of her in my gallery. I’d saved every photo she’d ever shared in the chat, always without thinking. It was automatic. I yearned to hold on to every bit of her, found myself scrolling through these snapshots when things got too stressful. Looking at her beautiful, smiling face alleviated my ills, just a bit. Hearing her voice instantly washed all my worry and chased the darkness away.

She’d sent a couple selfies to me before - nothing like the new one - but I remember feeling like my heart was swelling in my chest when I’d received them. To think she took a moment, thinking of me, looking through that lens like she was looking at me, making faces for me, smiling for me… I could hardly bring myself to believe it. But there it was, the evidence right in front of me whenever I needed to look at it.

Perhaps I had gotten greedy, but seeing her like this now, I wanted more.

Not just the prospect of seeing a side of her I never had, but... to believe she would share it with me and only me. It was selfish and it was terrible. I could not afford to do this. I did not deserve any of it.

But somehow, I convinced myself that this was all just a bit of fun. That’s all. What harm could come of that?

I’d send out my next photo the following morning, after my shower.

It wouldn’t be my last.

  
  



	3. Player Two Has Joined the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suffice to say, she didn't think a little fish bread would lead to this.

I’d slept hard that night - that’s what I got for stuffing my face right before bed - and as I stumbled through my morning routine I momentarily forgot everything that had transpired the evening before. I thought little of the texts that I’d missed through the late to early hours of the morning. The RFA members all kept sporadic schedules and it wasn’t uncommon for two or three of them to be up chatting well into the AM. As usual, I read over the conversations and then proceeded to respond to the texts that had popped up in my inbox.

Out of habit, I began from the bottom and worked my way up, oldest to newest.

Zen asked for my opinion on a potential guest from his latest cast of coworkers. Yoosung delightedly reported to me how well his last in-game raid had gone. With Jumin and Jaehee it was all about Elizabeth the 3rd, no surprise there. Seven’s text had only arrived about an hour ago which I should have found odd in itself since he usually sent me his random musings around 3-4AM. The text also contained an attachment which, while not particularly strange, instantly reminded me of the one I’d last sent him.

I’d gone to sleep grumpy at his lack of a response to my taunting photo. I reasoned he had no excuse to delay because, work or no, he was always prompt with his replies. Seeing the text sitting there now - with goodness knows what included - I wasn’t quite sure what to think.

Oh, wait. He wasn’t sending me a picture of himself buried in a pile of fish-bread to one-up me, was he? Guh. Or maybe some other inane thing to drive me nuts. My sleep-addled, cranky brain prepared itself to be even more irritated as soon as I opened the text to see what awaited me.

And then...I promptly dropped my phone.

Admittedly, I was not agitated in the slightest. If anything, I was very, very awake all of a sudden.

Dumbstruck.

Flabbergasted would probably be a good word too.

Suddenly I was scrambling to the floor, landing on my knees as I scooped up my phone and swiping repeatedly until my trembling fingers finally managed to unlock the screen and return me to the app.

Oh my _God._

Right there on the screen was a picture of what I could only assume was Luciel, intentionally cropped just beneath his nose but the smirk around the toothbrush and red curls laid against his neck told me it could be no other. He was _shirtless_ , bare chest and arms and _everything_ as far as I could see with a towel draped about his shoulders. Was… Was he wearing another towel or…? I couldn’t see anything past the beginnings of his abs. He had _abs_.

Of course he had abs, self, don’t be _stupid_.

They were unfortunately cut off by the counter and sink in the photo. And lo, as my eyes roamed the photo with more attention to detail than I probably meant to, I spotted them.

His glasses were set there in the corner as if on blatant display!

For a split second I started to feel that twinge of anger...or frustration welling up that he’d gotten the better of me, but I just...couldn’t sustain it. What had become the bane of my curiosity these days was becoming quickly overshadowed by everything else in the photo.

I...I didn’t know he was so fit. I mean, he wore his hoodie or some other article of baggy clothing most of the time so how _could_ I know? He must have just gotten out of the shower or something too, because I swear I could see shining streaks and droplets of water on his skin. The mirror also looked recently fogged and wiped so he could show off his reflection.

Also...who knew Seven’s selfie game was so high? The photo was so well composed, making sure I saw exactly everything he wanted me to see, that I’d notice _everything_ he wanted me to notice.

I swallowed thick. My throat suddenly seemed so very dry.

Then the thought struck me, sending me reeling almost as hard as my first glimpse of the attachment had.

Was...was he _sexting_ me?

Would this even be considered a sext? I’d never received one before. It was just a shot of his bare torso, after all. Nothing unusual about that, right? But he was very clearly nude, or at least seemed to want me to think so given the context. Also wet. He was wet. WET. Something inside me squealed - Seven wanted me to _think_ he was _NUDE AND WET._

I could feel my skin begin to burn with the implications. The first notion that popped in my head then was that I had to be the luckiest person in the world and, oh, what had I done to be worthy of such a glorious stroke in my favor? The second one flew and tripped up all over the first, that pesky voice of reason ready to point out that I must have done something to instigate this. As far as I was aware, 707 was not the type to toss photos of himself around, much less ones of such an...exposed nature.

Despite being loathe to leave the temptation on my phone’s screen for fear it might spontaneously vanish (you never knew with Seven; maybe the file came with a code attached so it would self-delete after being opened), I scrolled to review what I had sent the night before.

An errant thought came that maybe he loved that fish bread more than any of us really knew. Was it a thing to have a fetish for a particular food? My internet search history was going to be a mess later. I also had to hurry to banish some very strange images that floated, unbidden into my head as I tapped the image I’d sent him to pull it into full view.

_Oh. Ohhhhhh. Oh no._

The blush that had taken my face spread like wildfire. Upon a second viewing this looked _way_ more suggestive than I had originally intended, and that suggestion appeared to have nothing at ALL to do with flaunting the fish bread in my possession. Bean paste had smeared over the corner of my mouth and somehow dripped down on my front. I didn’t even remember the straps of my tank top being that askew. What a hot mess! I could feel embarrassment welling and I wanted to find a rock to hide under, and fast. How could I explain this? I couldn’t unsend it! He couldn’t _unsee_ it!

In the middle of my lamenting, I felt compelled to return to the photo he’d sent in return. My anxiety began to melt into the adoration that I was quickly developing for the sight right at my fingertips. Like ice cream on a stressful day, and just as lickable. Without thinking twice and no one there to judge me I zoomed in to inspect the details a little more closely.

Considering it, if I hadn’t sent what I did when I did, he may very well have never sent me this. The nature of it, flirtatious and teasing (if my ability to interpret these things wasn’t failing me), said that he actually rather liked what he’d seen - enough to respond in kind. I found myself nibbling on one of my own fingers as I ran the gamut of possibilities for what I could possibly do now. First and foremost, I needed to play it cool. Seven couldn’t know how I had reacted to his selfie. His attempts to get a rise out of me was what had gotten us here in the first place and I’d be damned if he was going to win that easily. I was also not going to get pulled into playing chicken and lose!

Admittedly, my initial goal of getting the elusive hacker to take off his glasses was quickly taking a backseat to my curiosity about just how much he’d bare besides if enticed enough. This could be the beginning and end of it right here, or it could be the catalyst to something far more interesting. The question then was: how far _I_ was willing to go to get him there? There was still a small part of me that worried I was misinterpreting this and if I sent him something more suggestive that it might get weird.

I didn’t want it to get _weird_.

No, I needed to think about this very carefully. If I would respond. If I _should_. And if so, how exactly? On top of all that, did I dare say something about it or simply lay down my next hand without a word and hold on to my poker face? Amid all this I couldn’t bring myself to think too far ahead for what it could all eventually lead to. I wasn’t sure my heart could handle the prospect. Whatever it was, I felt the urge to throw myself at it with reckless abandon. So unlike me, but I’d seen a glimpse of a wily little enigma I wanted to believe no one else had seen. It only made sense I’d want to see more...have more. Even if it didn’t last.

I shook my head, knocking the creeping melancholy aside as I exited away from the new photo to scroll through the few, more normal (if you could call them that), images I’d accumulated of Seven from the rare times he posted to chat. Quiet recollections of our late night phone calls came, the sound of his voice playing against my ear and I trembled a little inside.

_Let me see more of you…_

I’d made up my mind. I wanted to prove to Seven I wasn’t backing down and I had to be smart about it.

I needed to know what this could mean.

I needed to go shopping.


End file.
